Photograph
by musicality7437
Summary: Years after the Battle of Hogwarts and the defeat of the Dark Lord, Severus Snape receives a letter with an unexpected request and a photograph of the child who bears his name. AU in that Snape survives DH. R&R is much appreciated, but above all - enjoy.


**Photograph**

Severus Snape glared icily at the object sitting on his kitchen table. That was one of his better qualities, he thought – being able to freeze things (especially students) metaphorically, and quite literally, with a single glare.

It was a pity that parchment couldn't be frozen quite so easily.

The letter had arrived by owl in the middle of Snape's Prophet-reading, coffee-sipping morning ritual. The snowy-white bird who had quite proudly delivered it had insisted on staying until it was read, so he had torn it open in an attempt to get the damn bird out of his house. If he had known what was inside then, the letter would have gone straight in the trash bin and the owl would have been unceremoniously shoved out the window. As it was, Snape _had_ read the unfortunate letter, and was now contemplating his dilemma as it sat innocuously before him on the table.

"Dear Professor Snape," the letter read in its untidy scrawl, "How is retirement treating you? I hope you are well."

Snape rolled his eyes. Of all the slimy, sycophantic ways to greet someone… If he hadn't recognized the handwriting he had once so loved to slash "Troll" across in blood-red ink, he would have thought the letter was from Draco Malfoy. He read on.

"I hope Pigwidgeon didn't give you too much trouble when he arrived with this – he seems to think every letter he delivers must be read immediately. Ginny thinks it's sweet, but I have to confess that the desire to strangle him has crossed my mind on numerous occasions."

Snape snorted. Pigwidgeon – what a stupid name for an owl.

"I am writing to deliver some happy news and also, perhaps, to ask for a favor."

Snape quirked an eyebrow. A favor? What could he possibly give the Golden Boy that he didn't already have?

"As you may have heard (the Prophet's information sources never cease to amaze me), Ginny and I welcomed our second son into the world on Tuesday."

Snape glanced down at the morning edition of the Daily Prophet. Yes, there it was, on the bottom half of the first page: "Boys Who Lived – Potter Family Welcomes Second Baby Boy."

"After much deliberation (mainly because Ginny favors names like Pigwidgeon), we have decided what to call him.

"His name will be Albus Severus."

Snape choked on his coffee.

After a good two minutes of hacking out his lungs and trying to breathe, Snape reached out with trembling fingers and snatched up the letter from the table again, certain that his eyes were deceiving him.

But no – there it was, written in Potter's hand. "His name will be Albus Severus."

Albus Severus.

_Severus_.

Snape's own name glared out at him from the parchment, marring the creamy landscape and swirls of emerald-green ink.

_What was Potter thinking?_

The letter continued, as Snape desperately searched the following lines for anything resembling an explanation.

"I have never been able to properly thank you for what you did for me and for the Wizarding World-"

Nonsense, Snape thought. Hadn't the boy given a horrifying, sappy speech at Remus Lupin's funeral? Hadn't he "thanked" Snape enough?

"-but I feel that with this decision, I will be able to pass on the memory of your sacrifices-"

Snape's fingers went unconsciously to his neck, where the scars of years-old snake bites still ached.

"-and, more importantly, your undying love."

With great difficulty, the former Potions Master resisted the urge to snatch up his wand and mutter a venomous "_Incendio!_" in the direction of the offending letter.

"This brings me to the favor I spoke of earlier. Ginny and I would consider it a great honor if you would agree to be our son's godfather."

Oh, this was too much.

Snape pushed back his chair with an ungodly scraping sound and paced his tiny kitchen furiously, a thunderous scowl deepening his face. Potter hadn't just gone and named his son after him, oh no, he had to go and ask him to be the godfather too! As if the first wasn't dramatic enough for the Boy-Who-Lived-to-Torment-Him. Didn't Potter have those annoying sidekicks, Granger and Weasley? Couldn't they be the godparents? Why _him_, of all people?

A teacup on the countertop exploded.

Snape stared at it in shock, as memories of broken china and angry voices and swinging belt buckles came flooding over him, unbidden.

For heaven's sake, he was a retired Hogwarts professor, not an eight year old boy!

He stopped pacing and realized that the letter had fallen to the floor in the aftermath of his fury. As he picked it up, something slid out of the folds of the envelope and settled face-down on the floor. It was small, flat, and square-shaped, and it made Snape instantly suspicious. Gingerly prying it up from the floor with a fingernail, he settled back into his chair before flipping it over.

It was a photograph of the Potters. Harry and Ginny were in the background kissing (Snape felt vaguely nauseated), their new son cradled in Ginny's arms, while their older son (James, he thought?) kept trying to jump into the photo from the side, grinning mischievously.

Snape shook himself out of his reverie. Silly, sentimental –

The baby in the photograph opened his eyes.

Snape froze.

Staring up at him was a pair of bright green eyes. Eyes that he hadn't seen since Potter – eyes that he hadn't seen since _her_.

Suddenly, he was back on Spinner's End, back where red-haired girls flew through the air but didn't fall, where flowers pulsed in the palm of a tiny hand and friendship grew like the lilies on the side of the road – abundant and forever.

And then in Godric's Hollow, the bite of the October air and the chill in his heart at the sight of the ruined house that he shouldn't be able to see…

Through the door, past a body he barely registered, up the stairs, heart pounding all the way, the shrill cries of a child piercing the night –

And the green eyes, dimmed forever.

Snape stared down at the smiling baby in the photograph, hands shaking, decision made.

A flick of his wand, and a sheet of parchment along with a Quick-Quotes Quill came zooming down the stairs from his office. He didn't trust his hands to stay steady as he wrote this letter. Straightening up, Snape cleared his throat. "Dear Mr. Potter," he began.

The Quick-Quotes Quill, jolted to life, attacked the parchment and began scritch-scratching its way down the page.


End file.
